


When the sun goes out

by crumblingredsky



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angsty Crowley (Good Omens), But this story needed out, Crowley breaks down because he thinks he's hurt his angel, Handcuffs, Hell tortures them both, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), It hurt my heart to write, M/M, No beta we fall like Crowley, No one is destroyed and everything is fine, Not actually noncon but Crowley thinks it is, Please take care of yourself if Crowley thinking he's a rapist will hurt your heart, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Spit As Lube, They/Them Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), This became a trauma fic halfway through and I'm not sorry, Wing Grooming, Writing Beelzebub's voice made me twitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 15:28:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20473295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crumblingredsky/pseuds/crumblingredsky
Summary: Both home offices have it in for Aziraphale, and Beelzebub's going to let Crowley dole out his punishment. Crowley never pictured their first time like this, but he'll keep the rest of Hell away from his angel any way he can.





	When the sun goes out

**Author's Note:**

> These guys would not leave me alone until I put this on a page. I'm sorry.

They’d stripped him of his power. _The_ _gall_, the angel thought to himself, shivering. _The absolute gall_. Michael had laughed when she pocketed her phone, turning her gaze from him to Gabriel and whispering, “They’re ready.” And then before Aziraphale could ask, Gabriel’s cold eyes were upon him. “Your _demon_ has given you up,” he whispered as he pressed the elevator button, his body entirely too close to Aziraphale’s. Gabriel laughed then, louder, buoyant. “You don’t have to go to Hell, but you can’t stay here.”

And that golden warmth he’d always carried, the certainty in his heart he’d never had to summon because it was just _there_, had vanished. Aziraphale tried to call out for Her, but his inner voice was silent. She couldn’t hear him anymore. And he was freezing. He’d pulled his coat tighter as Gabriel shoved him into the elevator, but before the buttons could reach the buttonholes, the door sprung open.

Hell was _cold_. The angel wondered why humans always spoke of flames and burning, when Hell was a freezing bunker. It reminded him of nothing so much as a transatlantic flight in coach, with the blasted fan stuck directly in one’s face. Nothing but recycled, choking air, and he couldn’t catch his breath. Where was the Hellfire? Aziraphale buried the thought, not wanting to find out.

Crowley’d hung back from the meeting, shaking the blessed vending machine and kicking it at the bottom. He’d put in nearly three pounds, and the packet of cheese and onion crisps was just hanging there, two more behind pushing too gently to release it. He’d been so proud of the way he’d configured these machines for earth. The demon had never counted on Hell buying a dozen just to fuck with him. He briefly wondered if they’d really need the miracle paperwork in triplicate if he just snapped the crisps down into his hands before he heard his name out in the hallway.

“Crowley,” the crowd seemed to buzz as one. “Crowley. Crowley.” _Shit. Just like Hell to give you three weeks to work on a presentation, then need it a week early. Guess I’ll have to wing it._ Crowley scooted out of the lounge and into the crowded hallway. His heart, or what was left of it, stopped when he saw Aziraphale.

_Oh, Angel. What have they done to you?_

Aziraphale’s beloved suit had been torn to shreds. Clawed, more like it, and his skin red and raw beneath. The redness burst up into his face as he saw Crowley push his way through the vibrating mob between them. As the demon got closer, he saw the cuffs and chain that held his angel to a heavy wooden table. Just a table. Crowley couldn’t feel any curses on it, or any demonic miracles holding the angel in place. _He isn’t fighting them. Why the fuck isn’t he fighting them?_

The buzzing of the crowd morphed into a single voice as Beelzebub appeared before them. “Demon Crowley,” they said, and it was almost a purr. “What a carefully crafted sin. What a truly Hellish use of your powerzzz.” Usually pleased to take the credit, Crowley was taken off guard.

“I was just explaining to the _angel_ here,” their voice dripping with disdain, “how very long you have spent coaxing him into our armzzz. Six thousand yearzzz. You deceived an actual _angel_ into believing that you actually cared for him. Loved him! As though a demon were capable of _love_.” The crowd, now surrounding Crowley on all sides, laughed mirthlessly. “So many hours in his bookshop, at his table, by his side. So many faithless promises. Such an artful lie. And now you shall have your reward.”

_Fuck. No. Fuck. Get him out_ was all the demon could think. _Get him out of here where you can explain_. Because Aziraphale couldn’t possibly… No. He did. He believed them. Crowley saw it in his angel’s dead eyes. The sun had gone cold behind them. And that’s why he stood still, waiting for whatever awaited them both.

“Show him the only _love_ a demon can give, Crowley. Take him the way a true Duke of Hell doessss. Show us all the sin you’ve been waiting six thousand years to commit. Claim your promotion and _Wreck. Him._”

Crowley’s blood ran cold, even for a snake. _Get to the angel. Get to him and figure something out. Now._ His body zipped forward before he could make the decision to run, the product of thousands of years of sensing Aziraphale across time and space.

The angel stood still. His eyes, blurry and unfocused, could only see the demon’s shoes. And for the first time, he shrank from Crowley’s approach.

_I’ve been such a fool. So desperate that I thought a demon could love me, when all of Heaven can’t. They’ve made it quite clear that I’m beyond grace now. Whatever happens here, I deserve it completely._

As resigned as the angel was, he couldn’t help but be frightened. He’d seen all manner of torture before, and blessed the victims. Aziraphale was very sure that his soft body and softer heart wouldn’t be able to withstand it, not from Crowley. _My Crowley. It wasn’t a mistake to love you,_ he thought, even knowing that the demon couldn’t feel his unspoken love. _Love is never a mistake. Forgiveness is never a mistake. I forgive you._

Crowley may not have been able to feel angelic love, but Aziraphale’s fear and despair were flowing off of him in waves. _Heaven did this_, Crowley thought with more anger than pity. _Hell doesn’t plan this well._ The demon knew his colleagues: criminals, but petty ones. Brutal, for sure, but they didn’t play the long game. And more importantly, Aziraphale’s light was gone. Crowley didn’t know how to explain to himself what he meant, but the quiet peace, the stillness, the… _the faith,_ Crowley finally realized. _They’d taken his faith. _

A flood hadn’t taken his faith. The guillotine hadn’t taken it. Genocide hadn’t taken it. Crowley’s anger blossomed behind his widening eyes as he coiled into his serpent form and let out a loud, furious hiss. No human words could possibly describe Crowley’s anger. And this time, without thinking, Crowley’s wings flew out from between his scales. They thumped in the cold air. He rose up, hiding the angel behind his feathers. _Do something!_ he hissed to himself. _You can put on a fucking show, but can you save him when he needs you?_

Beelzebub snapped their fingers and Aziraphale was on his back, still chained, atop the table. His arms were held down against his sides as his fingers grasped at nothing, the memory of a hem on his coat, anything to fiddle with in his fear. Crowley whipped his body back to see that beautiful, stupid suit, his favorite stupid suit and coat and bowtie and those wonderfully ugly shoes gone. Hell had even taken his socks. His angel shivered uncontrollably, still gazing into space. _If only, love. Alpha Centauri. We should be there, where no one could find you._

Beelzebub’s eyes rolled as they hummed, and Crowley’s attention snapped back to the room. “Cute, Crowley. Nice touch. I like your style. Now get. On. With. It.” In that moment, the Lord of Hell sounded more like they belonged in a grey suit and a calming white light than a freezing basement. _We’re on our own side now, Angel._

Crowley wasn’t sure how he’d wound up nestled around the angel’s ankles. _Never even seen him barefoot in centuries, not since shoes became so fancy… let alone…_ He was thinking too fast and not at all. _Do something!_ his angel had begged him back at the air base. His angel was now shuddering away from him, kicking his very bare legs out and softly whimpering.

_No, no, no. You’re scaring him. Think, asshole. Think. He’s the smart one. Always has been. He’d get us out of this, while convincing you it was your idea. Thinks you’re so suave, so cool and calm. James fucking Bond, you are, and you couldn’t even hide your love from him…_

And in that moment, sidling up alongside his shivering angel and folding his wings back to shield them both, Crowley knew what to do. He focused his golden eyes on Aziraphale’s and thought as loudly as he could. _They’re wrong. They’re all wrong. Both sides. I love you, always have. Never hurt you. Promise._ In his snake skin, he was much too warm, but he could feel the angel’s temperature slowly rise.

When they were parallel on the table, Crowley made his stare as gentle as he could. He laid his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder and silently begged his angel to look at him. _Love you. Love you. Love you. Couldn’t lie to you no matter how hard I tried._ Aziraphale’s head slowly turned. His teeth were clenched but his eyes were full and wet. A tiny nod, and that was all Crowley needed.

He reared up between Aziraphale and the crowd, shunting out his wings. The noise made a few of the lesser demons jump, and despite himself, Crowley grinned. “Back up! Give a guy some room. I need five feet on all sides like the splash zone at the dolphin tank. Got it? We don’t know what kind of shit happens when demons and angels mix. Could get all… explode-y in here. Real fast.”

As the mob shuffled back, muttering about holy contamination, Crowley turned. Behind one wing and in Aziraphale’s ear, he whispered: “Play along, Angel. I’ve got you.” And suddenly he was Anthony J. again, long and lean and sleek, but utterly human in his black jeans and shirt. More human than anyone knew. Covering his angel, keeping him warm and safe. How safe, for how long, was anyone’s guess.

“Demon Crowley, I don’t have all day. If you’re not going to enjoy the spoilzzzz of your personal war, there’zzzz a line forming to the left. If you don’t think you’re up to the task…”

Crowley swallowed hard. This wasn’t how he’d pictured their first time. Part of him hadn’t ever been sure they’d survive that long. But he knew one thing for absolutely certain: no other demon would be touching his angel. No one else. Not ever. If he hadn’t been sure before this, seeing Aziraphale faithless and lost sealed it. _I’m shit at protecting you, love. Let me get us out of here and I’ll spend eternity loving you the way you deserve._

That was when he felt it: A golden tendril of hope, softly reaching out to him. Glowing so bright, Crowley pushed his chest into the angel’s, trying to hide it with his body before realizing that no one else could see the shining arc he felt between them. The demon’s eyes dilated with the sudden realization: _You’re in there. I feel it. Please trust me, angel._ A soft, gentle smile only Aziraphale had ever seen almost gave them away before Crowley added teeth and growled.

_Someone forgive me._ _Please._

“Just savoring my prey here. Watching him squirm. ‘S a… A snake thing.”

Beelzebub almost laughed, a thick choking sound. “If you don’t stick the dick that invented dick pics in _that angel_ in the next two minutes, I’m throwing him to the lionzzz, as it were.”

Not fair. Crowley might’ve been behind dick pics, but it was the other side who’d done all that nonsense with the lions. Humans love martyrs and all that.

The soft tendril that had reached out to Crowley clutched at something now with ferocity. Stuck barbs in and took roots. Whether it was a heart, the demon wasn’t sure, but something in his chest throbbed and ached. And then, just as quickly, eased. _It’s okay, love. I’ll be all right. We’ll be all right._

Crowley jerked, his body taut over the angel’s. Without him quite directing it to, his hand slid up to the shoulder beneath him hidden from the crowd and down a soft, pliant arm to a hand outstretched despite the cuff. The angel’s fingers gripped his and those blue eyes finally focused. They held his gaze and wouldn’t let go.

“You wicked, foul tempter! I’ll not be taken down by the likes of you! You evil…. Evil thing!” The words were sharp, at least for Aziraphale, but they were softened by the tiniest movement at Crowley’s side.

The angel’s index finger extended just past their clasped hands and grazed the inside of Crowley’s wing, close to his body. _The fuck?_ No one had ever touched his wings. No one had ever even come close.

A shudder went through Crowley as he hardened in his jeans. He knew Aziraphale could feel it. _I shouldn’t want this. Shouldn’t want him this way._ But his wing fluttered against that finger and Crowley felt it _right there._ Like it was--like _Aziraphale_ was--palming him, gripping him, taking control of his now extremely hard and straining cock.

The angel’s eyes never left his as two, then three fingers stroked him. “Don’t think you’ll get away with this! I’m still celestial property, you brute!” Ever so slightly, Aziraphale’s legs opened beneath Crowley.

Even in his human form, the serpent was so hot he could hardly breathe. _Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me_ was all Crowley could think as he reached between them--_That’s his skin his stomach his hip his cock that’s his cock and it’s hard_\--and unzipped his jeans.

Aziraphale’s legs drew up beneath them, kicking as if he could throw the demon off. Tilting his hips up. “No power in all of Heaven will ever forgive you for polluting this body, I can tell you that much, you filthy rapist.” There was an edge to that last phrase. A deeper register than Crowley had ever heard from his angel. Almost a grunt, and Crowley stalled with his cock in his hand. _I’m beyond forgiveness, angel. I was the moment I looked at you. I’ve been polluting you, ruining you forever, and this is the natural result. It was always going to end here._

The slow buzz in the room around them amped up, chanting the angel’s words. They were a badge of honour here. Probably be his full title. Duke Anthony J. Crowley, Filthy Rapist. The heat in Crowley’s body shot up to his face and settled behind his eyes, a burning that he knew required release or distraction. If he blinked right now, hot tears would fall and all of Hell would descend upon them both. It was Hell’s game he was playing, and there was only one way to win it.

No tears. No kissing, not like he’d imagined. No licking into Aziraphale’s soft and beautiful mouth. No gentle strokes with a palm full of miracled lube as his angel clucked and rolled his eyes, pretending to chide him for wasting his power. Six thousand years he’d had to perfect this moment in his fantasies, and absolutely none of it would come true.

Every demon down here would sense any miracle. There were no miracles left for them. No way to make it easier for his angel, and no miracles left in Aziraphale to possibly open himself up. Crowley did the only thing he could still do: he lifted his hand to his mouth and spat into it. The demons around them roared, knowing that they’d get their show.

Could it be that the angel’s hips lifted higher? Could it be that his scream came first, before Crowley’s cock shoved into him?_ I’m sorry I’m sorry I wish it were me I’m sorry._ Could it possibly be that those fingers continued to stroke his burned and blackened wing, as blue eyes held him j_ust like that golden ribbon he could still feel--_

The demon came, hot and exhausted and wishing he could die. Someone lifted him up and away from Aziraphale. There were congratulations and a formal acknowledgement of his new title, and in the commotion, Aziraphale was whisked away. His angel was gone. And he couldn’t feel him anywhere, except all over his burning body.

It had been easy enough to snap himself back into the bookshop when no one was looking. Aziraphale found it odd at first that his power to manifest miracles had returned to him, but in the middle of his bath, surrounded by the smooth, liquid heat, he suddenly understood.

The angel changed into a pair of tartan flannel pajamas, the ones he wore when it was extra cold outside, he was reading an eerie mystery, or he hadn’t heard from Crowley in a bit. But he just couldn’t get to sleep. Not that he was much for the human tradition--it didn’t taste good and was such a solitary pursuit it was hardly worth it. Plus there was the matter of what they had done to him upstairs. Were they really their own side now, just him and Crowley? He wanted that now, more than he ever dared to say.

That had been the problem, hadn’t it? That he’d been too much of a coward to say how much he loved Crowley. The demon couldn’t feel it, not the way Aziraphale could, pouring around him and over him like liquid gold whenever they were close. At least, he couldn’t before. Before that… strange thing that had happened between them. Crowley saving him again. _Play along, angel,_ he’d said. The angel only hoped he’d played the role of the tortured innocent well enough to hide them both from prying eyes for a while.

He’d been hoping Crowley would come by the bookshop tonight, at least to talk about what had happened. Now that they were safe. He reckoned they’d always been safe, really. If he hadn’t been so stupid as to believe the actual Lord of Hell, and Gabriel, and Michael, and basically everyone in charge of everything, he’d have known it the whole time. He really needed to talk this through with Crowley. It was the only way Aziraphale ever felt he could resolve things. And usually things were far less complicated than… well… sex.

_After what we’ve just been through? Fuck it._

He snapped his fingers and was just inside Crowley’s door, following a very unfamiliar sound into the bedroom.

His demon was curled in a ball next to the bed, lanky arms wrapped around the knees that hid his face. Aziraphale couldn’t see his mouth, but he could hear the muffled words that Crowley sobbed into his rough denim. “Wicked. Foul tempter. Rapist. Evil thing.” Sensing the angel’s sudden presence, Crowley snapped his head up and screamed through his tears. It was a scream with no intelligible words, like a cornered animal. His sweaty hair was stuck to his forehead. The angel wondered how long he’d been crying like this, alone. _Not alone anymore, love. You never were._

Aziraphale was crouched in front of him in an instant, forehead bent against the demon’s own. “Hush, dearest. I’m here.” Even through Crowley’s pain, the angel could feel more love than he’d felt in all his time in Heaven. It was real, and Aziraphale should have always known; the demon had never been able to hide from him.

“I’m so sorry, angel! I’m so sorry and I know you can’t forgive me; I know even She can’t. I’m beyond all salvation now. I loved you so much. I always have. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so-”

Aziraphale reached down to Crowley’s chin and tipped the demon’s tear-stained face gently, gently up to his own. He then did the one thing that Crowley could not do to him earlier in Hell. It would have given them away entirely. It stopped Crowley’s breath as his eyes widened and his fingers stretched to grip the flannel Aziraphale still wore.

The angel’s lips were soft and smooth and entirely unexpected. _I’m dead. Discorporated. This is a coma. A fever dream. He can’t-- He wouldn’t--_

He did. Smoothing his hands down Crowley’s back and up under his damp shirt, Aziraphale whispered into his mouth. “Love. You love me. No past tense about it, dear. You never could lie to me.”

“You believed them,” Crowley whimpered. “You… I hurt you. I hurt my angel.”

The words _my angel_ felt scrawled in golden ink across Aziraphale’s chest the moment they were spoken.

“_They_ hurt me, love. Gabriel and Michael. And that buzzy one in charge of you, yes. They--” Aziraphale looked away suddenly, lifting a clenched fist to his mouth with a sob. “They cut me off from Her.”

_And took away your defenses. Everything protecting you from me._ Crowley’s legs fell to the floor and his arms opened for the angel, who crawled into them immediately. “That’s why your light was gone,” he sighed.

“My light?”

“Your… your eyes. Your light. Your sunshine. I don’t know. The warm thing. The thing that happens when you’re safe and everything’s okay and now--”

“Crowley. My dear, sweet boy.”

The demon stopped for a breath, still trembling.

“The light is not Her.”

Crowley kept quiet, holding his angel tighter. Not knowing how much longer he’d get.

“The light is _you_.”

At that he fell back against the side of the bed, grasping at the edges of the sheet behind him. “Angel, that’s not… I can’t… I don’t have--”

Aziraphale took Crowley’s hands in his own and soothed him with a whisper. “Tell me the truth.” He chuckled, knowing his demon always would. “When did the light, the sunshine as you call it, come back?”

Crowley ran his thumbs over the soft hands in his, trying to remember just the warm part from earlier. Not the awful words and the way the angel’s knees had buckled under him. Not the screaming. But the sunshine, that hopeful piece that had reached out to Crowley? That came to him when he’d covered Aziraphale’s body, hidden him from the spiteful mob and pushed as much heat and love as he could muster into his angel.

“I… I was me again. Not snake me. Me me. And I knew you could feel it if I loved you loudly enough. So I just kept--”

“Loving me. Until my light came back.” Aziraphale grinned now, knowing that the pieces were falling together for his demon. “My light is you. It always has been.”

“_They_ hurt you.” A whisper. _Not me_, Crowley thought. _Them_. _We’re on our own side._

The angel nodded, his eyes full now with the memory of the sudden chill inside him as the elevator doors had opened.

“You miss Her.”

Aziraphale’s voice fell to a whisper. “She hasn’t come back. I don’t know if She _will_, Crowley.”

“Are you… Did you--” With a gasp, Crowley felt for the white wings he knew were just beyond his reach.

“I’m not sure, honestly.” _Would they just go black?_ “Crowley, I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know what happens now. Could you…?”

“I… Yeah. Yeah. C’mere.” _Don’t ever leave._ Crowley led Aziraphale up onto the bed to kneel in front of him. Taking a deep breath, he leaned in close. “If you’re… you know… they’ll just be gone. Takes a long time to grow them back.” _Felt like fucking forever,_ he remembered. _Please don’t take his wings,_ the demon prayed to whoever out there would listen. _No one,_ he knew. _It’s just us_.

The angel’s eyes squeezed shut, fingers gripping his knees. He steadied his breathing and prepared to show his wings. Or not.

When the sound hit his ears of the bones and feathers expanding in Crowley’s bedroom, nearly hitting the walls on either side, Aziraphale sobbed with relief.

Two beautiful, glossy white wings appeared to Crowley and he couldn’t still his hands. “Yes, angel, yes. They’re here. You’re here. We’re here.” He couldn’t help laughing, he was so happy to see his angel whole. Gentle fingers combed through the beautiful feathers, arranging and rearranging them until they were more than perfect. He’d spend forever worshipping these wings, _yes, worshipping. The only creature worth--_

Aziraphale peeked back through the curtain of white, his eyes heavy and his breathing shallow. “Yes, we are. Here. On our own.”

The angel’s voice was more of a whine, and it wasn’t until that moment that Crowley remembered what it felt like to have his wings stroked.

“Aziraphale.” He rarely ever said his angel’s name, but he needed to name this, this _thing_, this _beauty_ that was happening in front of him. That golden tendril? It was an entire _greenhouse_ of long, flowing angel plants now, wrapping their runners around Crowley and holding him close.

“Is this what it feels like?”

“When you love me, dear boy? Yes, of course it is.”

“So you… you felt this when we--?”

“Crowley.” Aziraphale drew his wings close, turned, and took his demon’s hands once again. “I haven’t _not_ felt this since that day in the Garden. Not until Gabriel told me--”

“Every day? You feel this every single _day_?” Crowley felt like he might burst open with the heat of it, and at the same time, it was all that was holding him in.

“It’s stronger when we’re closer together, but yes.” The angel’s eyes were shy now, cast down towards Crowley’s knees on the bed.

“Was it this strong when we… when I--?”

“When you were inside me? Stronger.”

Crowley couldn’t breathe._ I didn’t hurt him. I didn’t hurt him. I didn’t--_

The angel looked up again, certain once more what the future held. He swallowed and glanced at Crowley’s lips. “I’d like to show you. If that’s something you’d want.”

Crowley’s head nodded so fast, it didn’t seem to belong to him anymore. “Please,” and now his voice was a whine. Aziraphale’s hands slowly made their way to the hem of his t-shirt and lifted it. The fabric grazing his chest felt like a warm bath, like a hot mug of tea, like the love of an angel. Those hands on his bare skin seemed to leave visible prints in burning gold.

“I had to hide it from the audience before. If Hell had known…”

“Leave them out of this, angel.”

“I won’t hide it anymore. Not ever again.”

“Please,” Crowley repeated, and now he was begging, _begging_, this is what his angel did to him. Deft celestial fingers released his belt buckle and slid the rest of his clothing down, and as Crowley kicked his trousers off, he reached out for Aziraphale’s pajamas. He desperately wanted to miracle every inch of the tartan flannel away, but suddenly remembered how vulnerable his angel had looked with all his layers gone.

“Are you sure?” Crowley wanted him so badly, but even more, he wanted him safe. “Angel, I want you to be absolutely sure. The things you said… You had to believe some of them. You _had_ to. I’m a _demon_. A Duke of Hell, now. I heard the fear in your _voice_, Angel.” He couldn’t breathe.

“My love. My dear boy. I have always been sure of you.”

And there it was again, the golden warmth surrounding Crowley. Familiar now. It should be squeezing the breath out of him, but it was filling him up. Aziraphale would fill him up in the most beautiful of ways and erase everything Hell and Heaven had done to them. His fingers folded into the angel’s pajama shirt once more and reached for the buttons, hopeful again in a way the demon had thought he’d lost. And his angel kept on murmuring as the buttons came open, one by one.

“I’m so sorry that I frightened you. Let’s take back what they did to us. Let’s make something new.”

Crowley nodded. _What they did to us._ And then he said it out loud. “_They_ did it. To _us_.”

“Yes, my love. They hurt you, too. I won’t let anyone hurt you, not ever again.” Aziraphale shrugged off his top and rose up on his knees, but didn’t reach for his pajama bottoms. “Crowley, dear? Would you help me with these?”

_You beautiful creature,_ Crowley thought. After everything. _After everything we_\--they--_did to you_. _You just offer yourself to me like this._ He was about to speak when the tears began to fall. And through them, he sputtered, “Yes, angel. I’ll give you anything.”

Aziraphale smiled softly. “I know. You always have.” And Crowley removed the last piece of clothing between them, watching every inch of skin reveal itself to him. Strong, powerful legs kicked off the last of the pajamas, and suddenly there was no space at all between them. They knelt together and then the angel flipped him.

As Crowley gasped, Aziraphale chuckled. “You forget, dearest. I was the Principality of the Eastern Gate. A warrior of Heaven.”

Crowley understood. _Not a helpless innocent at all._ The firm muscles holding his biceps down seemed to agree. The gleaming white wings above them fluttered as Aziraphale leaned down for an entirely different kind of kiss, hungry and possessive.

The demon tilted up to meet him and whispered, “Wait,” confusing his angel until he saw the black feathers emerge from behind Crowley.

“I want to give you all of me.”

Aziraphale caught Crowley’s mouth, pushing his head back down on the pillow. When the demon’s lips were bitten and kiss-bruised to his exact specifications, he reached out for a wing and ran his entire hand down the shiny, sleek black feathers. “You already have.”

Crowley’s wing bent towards his angel like a flower to the sun, and their feathers mingled as his wide yellow eyes rolled back. “Ngk.”

The angel grinned as he felt Crowley’s cock stiffen against his hip. “You’re going to feel so good, love.” A soft hand reached down between them and took hold of Crowley for the first time. Aziraphale’s grip was strong and sure and slick _oh fuck that’s lube yes yes angel PLEASE--_

Aziraphale stifled a chuckle into the neck stretched out before him and murmured, “Yes, Crowley. Be patient.”

“Fuck, I… I said that out loud?” Crowley was writhing now, grinding his hips into his angel’s.

“You didn’t have to. Your love is pulsating around me now… just… like… this,” the angel replied with three firm squeezes of his cock. “It’s going to feel so good inside you, love.”

_Inside me_, Crowley remembered suddenly. “Yes, fuck, yes, angel.” He threw his legs open shamelessly and Aziraphale smiled into his neck. “Not quite yet. This isn’t quite how I… imagined it.”

“You… ngk… You what?” Crowley remembered every dark, lonely night he’d reached down into his guilt and shame and thought of his angel’s hands on him, in him, stretching him open and--

“I always pictured you riding me, if that’s quite all right with you.”

_Oh. Oh yes. That’s quite all right._

“You pictured that?”

Aziraphale reluctantly rolled off of him and tapped the demon’s thigh. “I’ve always wanted to…” Suddenly shy, his eyes flitted off to the side as he trailed off. Crowley’s mouth watered. He couldn’t take his own eyes off the angel’s magnificent cock, fully hard now and waiting for him.

“Go on, angel. Tell me what you want me to do.” Crowley was so hard he wasn’t going to last very long, and he needed his angel inside him when he came.

His angel, who was now scooting back up against the headboard and beckoning him towards him. “In my lap. Is how I pictured you. Ah, when I thought of this.”

The demon laughed now, low and growly in his throat. He straddled Aziraphale and whispered, like a car rolling slowly through gravel, “And how often did you think of this?”

Slick fingers grabbed Crowley’s ass and spread him open, desperate now. “You’d leave the bookshop,” the angel grunted. He gathered his courage and continued. “Sauntering out the door like I’d already fucked you and left you limping.”

“Oh fuck. Oh fuck, _angel_\--” a finger slid deliciously inside him. “I had no idea--”

“You never asked.”

“But _angels_ aren’t supposed to--”

“Yes, and--” two fingers now-- “_Demons_ aren’t supposed to feel love. How has that worked out for us, my brave, my beautiful, my everything, my Crowley?”

His heart was so full. He knew the answer was wrapped around him, very nearly visible now as their wings trembled and Aziraphale slid in a third thick, delicious finger.

“I love you. I love you, angel, I love you, and I’ve loved you as long as I can remember and _please just fuck me already_\--”

Aziraphale’s fingers slid out of him, eliciting a whine that turned into a moan as Crowley sank down and was finally, finally full. The strong hands that had once wielded a flaming sword gripped his hips now with that same determination. Their eyes locked and his angel was sure of his power once more, pulling Crowley’s wiry body down against his firm, muscled legs. His demon threw that beautiful red hair back out of his face, gasping for air he didn’t really need.

He didn’t really need anything but Aziraphale, in him and around him and all over him and pressing those soft, incredible lips to his, and when the angel slipped his fist over Crowley’s erection he felt a heat begin at the base of his spine.

This heat didn’t threaten to spill from his eyes and destroy them. This was the golden kind that had taken root and blossomed inside of Crowley, and as it flowed through his body he begged Aziraphale to come with him. “Need to… Angel, need you to…”

Aziraphale nodded. “Together, my love. Can’t wait any longer. Show me.”

He did. Crowley beat his wings, groaned into the angel’s mouth, and came harder than he ever had in his life. Aziraphale was half a second behind him, exploding into him with a warmth that echoed the pulsating Crowley had first felt in his heart.

As they sank down into the pillows, vibrating with every whisper of their wings against each other, Aziraphale snapped his fingers to clean up and wrap the warm blankets around them. “Got my miracles back, I think.” Crowley tucked his face into the angelic warmth surrounding him and hummed. “Good thing, angel. My legs probably won’t work for days.”


End file.
